


A Birthday to Remember

by chucks_prophet



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Smut, But Rated M to Be on The Safe Side, Eddie's birthday, Fire Station, Firehouse 118 Family (9-1-1), Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Stripper Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, firehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: He assumes, judging by the shit-eating grin on Buck’s face, this is his form of an answer, but it only raises more questions—especially when he wraps both hands around the top of the pole. In a slow, almost practiced move, he slides his entire backside down the length of it until his ass meets the tile.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 161





	A Birthday to Remember

"I promise, Hen, I'm fine."

"Fine as hell, but you ain't fine in the head."

"I'm serious. I haven't had one in eight years. What difference is another year?"

Hen's slack-jaw can fit a fire hose. "You haven't had a birthday in _eight years_?"

Eddie turns to Hen, wiping the sweat taking a siesta in the creases of his forehead and okay, maybe punching a free-standing bag in the firehouse gym isn't the best thing to do while trying to convince someone you're fine. "Between Afghanistan and raising Christopher, I don't exactly have time to stop and celebrate anything. As long as he has a good birthday, I celebrate with him."

Hen eyes him curiously, but resigns herself to a hum that says she gives up for now, but will unfailingly bring it up later. “Okay. Stay safe tonight, alright?”

“If by stay safe you mean _don’t_ run towards a burning fire, then you’re outta luck.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Have a good night, Hen.”

This time, Eddie doesn’t hesitate going another round with the bag.

⛑

At first, Eddie thinks someone’s broken in.

The back door slams shut and the sound of something heavy, like a duffel bag, echoes across the empty station. Eddie’s heart stops, but the punching bag doesn’t. Steadying it with his gloves so it doesn’t rattle, he uses it to partially shroud himself. His first, immediate thought is a bomber. No one just drops a bag in the middle of a supposedly empty firehouse without an ill intention. And robbery’s out of the question. Unless someone’s angling to steal some fire gear.

But the alarm didn’t go off. So it’s someone with access to the place, but—

“Eddie? Everything okay?”

Eddie glances up at the balcony, where a confused Bobby looks down at him.

Oh right. He forgot he wasn’t alone.

Eddie peaks out shyly from bag. “Uh—yeah, yeah,” he reassures unconvincingly, blinking away the crazy, “I just got a little spooked. Must just be Chim coming in.”

Bobby shakes his head. “No, Chimney switched with Buck for the overnight.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “What? He didn’t tell me about that.”

“I didn’t realize you two were married.”

“Very funny.”

“It was a last minute request.” Bobby shrugs. “I usually don’t grant them, but he seemed adamant when he called a couple hours ago, and Chimney couldn’t argue with more time with Maddie.”

Eddie’s put at ease for the supposed break-in, but Buck switching shifts has him a different kind of uneasy. Buck takes the job more seriously than anyone here, and he’s still on thin ice with Bobby since the whole lawsuit thing. Something must’ve happened.

So he still investigates. Just without the potential threat of disarming a live explosive.

Unless that explosive is Buck.

Sure enough, when he rounds the corner to the main entrance where the pole is, there’s his friend. "Buck?” he says, noticing the duffel on the floor next to Buck containing what looks like a… stereo? “What’s with the swap shift?”

Buck just grins at him and grips his shoulder. “Eddie, my man, a firefighter’s work is never done.”

“What does that mean?”

"Sit down."

"What?"

"Sit down and I'll answer you."

There’s that crazy coming back into Eddie’s eyes—and Buck’s. He blinks a few more times before obliging, grabbing a chair from the hallway.

“Right there,” Buck instructs.

Hesitantly, Eddie lowers himself onto the chair. That’s when he realizes he’s facing the fire pole… that Buck’s now standing next to.

"Buck, what're you—?"

Eddie’s question’s cut short when Buck turns the stereo on and “1, 2 Step” blares through the speakers. Buck shucks his shirt off almost immediately.

He assumes, judging by the shit-eating grin on Buck’s face, this is his form of an answer, but it only raises more questions—especially when he wraps both hands around the top of the pole. In a slow, almost practiced move, he slides his entire backside down the length of it until his ass meets the tile.

Eddie swallows thickly, wondering if Buck knows his zipper’s open.

That answer’s clear a few seconds later when Buck thrusts his hips up three consecutive times to the beat of the song.

Then, in a slide as graceful as Michael Jackson moon-walking, Buck’s right below Eddie, grinning up at him as he rolls his abs. It’s not long before he jumps up in a swift move and straddles Eddie.

"Happy birthday, Eddie Diaz," Buck growls, biting Eddie's ear in time with the forward grind of his crotch.

⛑

"So... you wanna explain?"

"Explain what?"

Eddie lowers his head with pursed brows.

Buck just shrugs. "I thought I explained it well."

"No, you did," Eddie reassures, not without a blush. He can’t even deny this with the throbbing tent in his slacks that Buck no doubt felt when he was grinding on him. "I mean _when_ did you—?"

"Start turning tricks?" Buck interjects as he hikes his pants up. That’s when Eddie notices the clear half-hard arousal through his boxers that gets caught in the zipper. "Pretty much since I decided to be a firefighter. I used it to help pay for tuition and... I don't know. I liked it too much to give up."

"Wait—so you still have this whole side-job stripper gig going?"

"Not as often as I used to, because it always used to lead to sex, but yeah.”

"How did I not know this?"

"No one does," Buck says before cocking his head in thought. "Well, except you and every woman in Los Angeles County."

“So Hen didn’t put you up to this?”

“Oh she did.” Buck throws a wink at him that doesn’t do favors for his lower half. “She just wasn’t specific in how I should celebrate.”

"So I'm the first man you've...?"

"No," Buck’s quick to answer, reaching for his shirt next—a futile attempt at covering his own blush as he throws it back on. "I've put out a lot of fires, but you're the first I've… been consumed by.”

Now the immediate threat is Eddie’s heart leaping from his chest. "Wait… so… you… you love me?"

Buck chuckles. "Hen was right. You may be fine, but you're far from fine in the head. Of course I'm in love with you, you jackass,” he says, as if they’ve been married for thirty years. “And Christopher. Remember last Christmas, when we took him to meet Santa? Well, one of his elves made a comment."

Eddie’s left street fighting in the past, but the anger still remains, making his fists heavy and his face hot in a new way. "What kind of comment?"

"That we have an adorable son.” Buck shrugs as he steps closer. "And I didn't correct her. Because there was nothing to correct."

A new warmth envelopes his fists: Buck’s hands around his.

“You… consider us a family?” Eddie breathes.

Buck’s grip is steady over Eddie’s hands. He doesn’t look away, ocean blue eyes pulling Eddie in like a current. Maybe Buck’s eyes are mimicking a current—a very real one he survived.

He wonders if Buck still thinks about the tsunami. If he too wakes up in a cold sweat, replaying the moment over again. Squealing tires often cut through Eddie’s waking thoughts. It’s a sound he’s been hearing since Shannon died. He heard it when he thought he lost Christopher in that same tsunami, when Christopher’s school called to tell him he’d been injured, when Buck filed a swift motion against the department, and now...

But instead of spitting Eddie back out onto the wet sand, Buck pulls him further into his undertow with a simple nod and a tight-lipped smile and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll resurface again. “Of course I do,” he replies without a hint of hesitation.

Eddie’s hand goes lax, allowing Buck to interweave their fingers together, but his mouth far from. He doesn’t remember smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks, but he’ll let Buck teach him how to do it again.

As he leans into the smile on Buck’s face, the fire alarm goes off. Bobby’s voice rings through the house even louder: “C’mon boys, let’s go!”

Once they’re in their gear, Buck helps Eddie up on the truck and, with a strong grip, pulls him into his lips for a quick kiss.

Eddie blames the permanent redness on his face on the house fire he rushes into that night.

A memorable birthday, indeed.


End file.
